Saving Skye
by Elphabla Clearwater
Summary: Skye's made up her mind. Clay's trying to change it. Will she let him save her from herself? Or will she join Hannah in her decision? He has five minutes. Skye's POV
1. Five Minutes

I kept my head down, only a few more yards to go, and then he called my name, "Skye." I could hear him breathing behind me, he was that close, but I didn't turn around. I kept walking towards the door and hoped he wouldn't follow, but if he did I was sure I could shrug him off. Just like I've done to everyone else the past few years…

He didn't take the hint, "Skye, can we talk?" He put his hand on my shoulder and I resisted the urge to punch him, what did he want from me?

I turned, giving him my signature smirk, "Yeah? What do you need Clay?" I stuffed my hands into my pockets and tried to act bored, like he was a complete idiot for talking to me.

Clay pressed on valiantly, "I just want to make sure you're okay. I—"

"What do you care? I haven't spoken to you since, what? Eighth grade? Since when have you been worried about me? Look, Clay, I'm fine. I just have a headache so I'm going home, that's all." I turned to go, but he grabbed my shoulder again.

"I just want to talk Skye, and I'm not taking no for an answer. Besides, I talked to you last night, remember? The bus?" Obviously intended as a joke, I'm not in the mood.

"Barely." I muttered, lying through my teeth. It's not everyday a girl is beaten by her mother then escapes a city bus for solace. And it's less likely to run into someone from school, attempt conversation for the first time in months, and get brushed off. No, what bus ride?

Clay has a pained expression on his face, "Can we just talk? Just for a a few minutes?"

I look at my watch, the 'rents don't get home until 12. If I can finish this chat quickly, I can get home and do the deed by then. "Fine, you have 5 minutes."

He sits me down on a nearby bench, and I wait. He's pacing in front of me, visibly nervous. I check my watch; he only has 4 minutes and 55 seconds left. Finally he speaks, "Why do you want to die?"

The question catches my so off guard, I am speechless for the first time in my life. I regain composure quickly and decided to act offended, "Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about, Clay? I'm not suicidal." My second lie today.

He's still pacing, "You have to answer honestly Skye, and otherwise I'm not going to let you leave."

"I'd like to see you try." I snorted, 4:49 left.

"Just answer the question."

"I already told you, I'm not suicidal."

"Skye…"

"What? That answer's not what you wanted to hear? Well I'm sorry, I understand that so much of the population wants me dead, why not just kill myself and put you all out of your misery? Well why not? That's all she ever talks about anyways…" I say before I can stop myself.

He pounces on my slip up. "Who? Who's this she?"

I was tempted to lie, but I was wary of his threat. I didn't have time for that, "My mom. My dad too, but only when he's sober." 4:37 to go.

He stopped pacing; maybe he thinks I'm opening up. How funny, how cute, how impossible, I've never really talked with anyone before in my life. And I'm not about to start. "They tell you to kill yourself?"

I shrugged, "When their in a good mood."

Clay rubbed the back of his neck involuntarily, he's still nervous. "Do they hit you too?" He indicates a bruise on the bottom of my leg. I cuss and try to cover it up, but it's too late. What's the point of wearing baggy clothes if they don't even fulfill their purpose?

"Yes."

"Often?"

"See previous answer." 4:19.

The bell rings for second period, but neither of us move. He seems to be processing the information, but if he thinks that comes as a shock, he hasn't seen anything yet. "Do you want to grab a bite to eat?" He sure knows how to offset a girl.

"That's going to cut into you're time, you know."

"Rosie's is just around the block." He gestures to the left.

"Fine."


	2. Parents

In another life, I would've liked to get to know Clay, to really know him. We were close in eighth grade, I might've even liked him, but that's long past now. The Skye that cared about things like that died years ago. That Skye was too…_emotional._ She couldn't survive in the real world, so I put her out of her misery. I became this; plastic, heartless, uncaring. It's worlds better.

Clay was sprinting ahead of me, clearly trying to get the full five minutes I allowed him. I followed close behind, but much less passionately. What did I care if his time ran out? Inevitably, we got there in 40 seconds, so I suppose his plan worked pretty well. He still had 3 minutes and 39 seconds. Very smart Clay, verrrrrrry sneaky.

He ordered quickly; two shakes, medium, keep the change. We sat down in the booth, and…waited. For what? For me to confess? For him to start rattling off more intrusive questions? Well if he thought I was going to repent or forget about the revolver back at home, he was delusional.

He finally speaks, "Did you know Hannah Baker?"

"Yes, not personally, but yeah. I thought…she died two weeks ago, right?" I wondered why he was bringing her up. Everyone knew she killed herself, but what does that have to do with me? Is he going to try one of those stupid; 'oh she made such a horrible mistake,' or 'don't waste your life like she did,' or the classic, 'learn from the choices of others.'

"Yes, she did. But before she died, she made these tapes. The recorded hr final words." Clay closes his eyes, as if remembering something painful, "And the thirteen reasons why she killed herself."

"How do you know about these tapes?" I hadn't realized the two were close. There was so much I didn't know about him. How does he expect me to open up to a stranger?

"I was one of the reasons." He reopened his eyes, but now they were glossy with tears. Was this remorse? He was trying to save me for killing Hannah? I felt anger surge through me; I hated playing the redeemer. Why should I help others when they have only kicked me around my whole life?

"Well I can't help you there." I slide to the right of the booth, preparing to escape, but Clay grabbed my wrist.

"Please, I'm just trying to help." I noticed he had tried to wipe the tears away with the cuff of his jacket; he was trying to hold it together for me.

"You only have 3:09 left, Clay. I don't think there's anything else you can do." But I slide back into the booth anyways. "Besides, you knew Hannah Baker, you don't know me."

"Then explain. I just want to listen." He saw my hesitation and said, "Start with your parents."

I struggled with myself for a moment. If I talked to him, I'd be letting my guard down. I'd be exposing myself to more pain. If I didn't, he might never leave me alone. Then again, will he ever consider me letting me go if I elaborated on my home life? More likely he'd stalk me just to make sure I never pulled the trigger. A stalemate, great. I decided I'd tell him the story on the surface, but if things got too deep…Well I've always been good about redirecting conversation.

"There's not much to say. My dad's a drunk and a gambler; my mom's a cheater and an abuser. Whenever I cross paths with them," I pull up one of my sleeves, revealing a large purple-black bruise, "I get hurt. That's all, end of story."

"Can you elaborate?"

"What do you mean?"

"Describe a usual routine between you three."

"How I spend my time at home is none of you business." I glare at him, avoiding the deeper topics, hoping he won't plunge right into them.

"C'mon, why do they hit you?"

Dammit. "It depends."

"Depends on what?" he's leaning forward, my voice has gotten so small.

"It depends on whether or not they have enough drugs, it depends on how much I buy for them, it depends on how much I can afford," I can barely hear my own voice, "and it depends on whether or not I can cover for them for the cops." I swallow hard, my plastic armor already giving into the Skye I used to be. The weak Skye, the stupid Skye.

2:49 remains.


End file.
